


The Seating Chart

by Psycho_Chair



Category: None - Fandom
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:59:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27705217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Psycho_Chair/pseuds/Psycho_Chair
Summary: The world is so very broken.  It's so damaged, and it's hard to see a future where it's fixed. So just take everything you have and build your own little world where happiness is possible.This, my friends, is mine.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 1





	1. Jacob Anthony Laurence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, there's a few trigger warnings, I think. I dunno, Jacob is kinda upset and is experiencing some S A D N E S S. I'd appreciate some feedback? Please? Lol, I'm desperate.

Jacob sat with her head in her hands, her body shaking. Soft buzzing filled the air, growing louder with each passing second, but the sound was only a memory. She ran trembling fingers through her hair, something in her chest aching sharply as she felt the tips of her hair far too soon. Hot tears stung her eyes, her face crumpling as she began to cry. Her dad had cut her hair. Hair she'd spent so long growing out, and he'd cut it all off. So short that Jacob could feel cool air brushing against her scalp. It left her dizzy, all that missing weight. Her head was too light, too easy to turn, and yet it was still so heavy. It felt like it was full of cotton. Like she was full of cotton. Distantly, she heard the roar of the vacuum, her brother's yelling, and beneath it all, the humming of the air conditioner. The sounds were muffled.

The mattress groaned and sank beneath her hands, and for a moment, Jacob stood frozen. Her vision was swaying ever so slightly. Sound came flooding back to her all at once, her ears ringing under the assault. Her knees bent unsteadily beneath her weight. Slowly, her feet dragging, Jacob shuffled into the bathroom. She couldn't stop herself from flinching at the sight of her sink. It looked wrong, so very wrong, without her makeup. A soft breath escaped her and she took a step back. She stiffened as something crunched underfoot. She lifted her foot, staring down at the small blender brush. There was still a faint purple dusting clinging to its now crooked bristles. She sucked in a sharp breath, a fresh wave of heat flooding her face. She dropped to her knees, gingerly picking up the tool. The tiny metal ring wobbled unsteadily and trembled in time with her own shaking. It fell with a barely-there _pink!_ and despite herself, Jacob found herself crying harder at the sound. With nothing to hold the bristles in place, the tufts of brown fluttered to the floor. It looked like hair. _Her_ hair. The thought struck her almost violently, sending harsh pulses through her body.

She stumbled to her feet, hastily pressing her palms to the cold stone counter of her sink and yanking on the faucet. Freezing water gushed out in a harsh spray, some of it misting through the air. Chills rippled up her arms as she cupped her hands and splashed the cold water on her face. It was like all the heat and fire was sucked out. Her cheeks cooled, the burn in her eyes fading, and she could breathe easier. Droplets of water sank into her shirt, water dripping down her face like tears. She took a deep breath, letting out shakily, and shut the water off. A heavy silence filled the bathroom, but it wasn't overbearing. She could handle it this time. Jacob took a towel, patting her face dry. Just before she put the towel down, she caught her reflection and froze. Flushed cheeks and eyes bright with new tears stared back at her. Even as she watched, her face changed, blurring and twisting horribly, and yet, it looked exactly as it did before. She hated that face. She hated it so much, and there was nothing she could do about it.

The chill in her bones was starting to burn with a fiery hatred. Slowly, it sank into her heart and lit a bonfire that had her trembling for an entirely different reason. The world changed then. Everything was different. Angrier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there's the first part :D  
> what'd you guys think? I'm not trans, but I think I did okay.  
> This is Jacob! Haha, she punches the mirror and her mom starts yelling at her for it. Oof.


	2. Nyx Jr.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact, this was originally a project for one of my classes. Since I had it done, I thought I might as well use it for this instead of just having it be abandoned.

Do you have voices in your head? I don't mean like you're-crazy voices, or imaginary friends. It's more like thoughts. Urges, you could say. The kind where you think, 'What would happen if I...??" Did you ever attempt it? I bet it taught an odd but necessary lesson, right? Here's a better question: Have you ever done that thing twice? Yeah, the first time was fun, but imagine doing it again! Oh, and let's add some flair! This time, don't put your hair up. Of course, when you decide to do it, you don't really think it through. Your brain kicks in about halfway through, sometimes at the last second, but never before. You never stop and think, "Maybe I shouldn't." It doesn't kick in until the danger is right in your face.

A situation like this, does it ring a bell? It should. It should ring bells, loud ones, like church bells at four am on a Friday. Like the one in the town's church. It would ring nearly every day, at the worst possible time. It had ruined many of Nyx's drawings.

Nyx is a nice person, but they can be quite, em, impulsive. Now, this story takes place when they were younger. They had just gone to sixth grade, the world was expanding, new things left and right. The problem with that is that Nyx never looked ahead. They were too busy looking at the new things left and right.

New things, like that shovel in their mother's hands. It was a pretty thing, for a shovel. Fake golden handle, polished stainless steel, broad metal scoop, perfect for things like digging up that old stump in the backyard. Which they were doing at the moment. Mother had been at it for several hours now, demanding water every ten minutes. Surely, she'd drain the town's water supply if she kept on. Nyx sat a few meters away, squinting at their mother through the blinding sunlight. They watched Mother work, hoping she'd give up so they could get their hands on that lovely shovel.

"Nyx, dear, please swap places with me. It would help much more than just staring." An opportunity appeared. Nyx took it readily, hopping off the lawn chair and springing forward. Mother took her gloves off, passing them to her child with a gratified smile. "I've worked it halfway out, so you won't have much to do. Just cut through the roots and-" Nyx did not hesitate, ignoring Mother in favor of listening to their mind. 'Hit the stump!', a voice cried. So they listened, giddily swinging the tool over their head.

Mother watched in mute horror as her perfectly good shovel, custom painted and all, was brought down onto the stump. It flashed brilliantly in the burning sunlight as it fell, and time slowed as Nyx suddenly realized: The polished stainless steel was not so steely against this mistreatment. Mother cringed at the odd noise the shovel made once it collided. It was like a muffled raven's caw. Nyx was no longer holding a shovel, but an L shaped garden tool. Mother's shout was angered. "Look what you have done!" Her words didn't register, like they should've. 'Again! Hit the side!', the same voice ordered. And Nyx followed that command, like the disobedient child they were. This time, though, the shovel slipped free from their hands, and was airborne. It spun up, up, up, and bounced off the house.

Nyx's only thought as it came hurtling back, like a boomerang, was so ridiculous that they physically began to giggle. 'Wow', they'd exclaimed mentally. 'The shovel is flying! A dream come true!' In their fit of laughter, they'd doubled over, conveniently ducking in time to avoid a possible concussion or decapitation. Instead, the shovel stuck the picket fence and thumped harmlessly onto the grass. Mother gave another indignant shout, her fingers locking painfully onto Nyx's ear. Their laughter was cut off with a whine. "Ow! Mum!" And then they were grounded. No phone, no coffee, no going out, none of the things Nyx usually enjoyed. "You will dig out the rest of that stump, AND buy me a new shovel!" Grumpily, Nyx huffed out, "Yes ma'am." Mother nodded stiffly, and pointed at the back door. "Get to it, child."

Not only did Nyx do it two more times, but also gave themself an actual concussion. When they went back to school the following Monday, Jacob was there with a frown on her face. She waited for Nyx to explain the bruise. "...I did it again." Jacob was now very clearly fighting to keep her frown. "The thing with the shovel?" Nyx nodded glumly, and Jacob burst into laughter. Nyx had done it before, and would do it again.


	3. Kalleina Johanson

Pale blue eyes focused dully on the scratched windows, a thin finger tracing the edges and occasionally tapping the corners. Just outside, people passed with their heads downturned and faces hidden from the dancing snow. They crowded the sidewalk like vultures did a dead animal. _Tap. Tap-tap-tap._

Her breath came out in puffs of white. Every shift had the fur of her hood tickling her neck, some parts of her throat itching from it. Tingles rippled across her scalp as she flattened her hand against the cool glass. She shivered.

A tiny dot of black edged by in the corner of her eye. Her teeth ached as she sucked in a breath through them. "Marion." The shadow stopped. "I told you to knock." She turned her head slightly, blinking slowly at the featureless shape of a woman. "Pardon me, Miss Johanson, but your mother-" Kallie sighed, hand dropping away from the window, "I'm on my way." Her fingers found the firm handle of a wooden cane.

She stood, free hand outstretched, and, despite having walked the same path time and time again, Kallie was careful as she moved. Her eyes were closed. _Tap-tap-tap. Tap._ She found her way to the house common room and sat in the first seat she came across. Springs squeaked beneath her, the cushion sinking with a barely-there creak. And so she sat, back straight, shoulders squared, tense, waiting for her mother to appear.

 _Tap. Tap-tap. Tap-tap-tap-tap._ The sound brought back memories of when she was a child. She opened her eyes and closed them again slowly. Shaking hands holding a gun flashed through her mind. _Tap-tap_ went the bullets as they hit the ground. _Tap-tap_ the gun went as those hands hastily slid a cartridge into place. _Click!_ Some sounds are nothing compared to others. A clicking trigger is nothing compared to a gunshot. A body thudding is nothing compared to its screams. A gunshot is nothing compared to those screams. Small sounds like those tap-tap-taps are nothing compared to the roar of a fatally wounded man.

Kallie twitched, fingers relaxing where they'd gripped her dress. Her hands were steady as they smoothed the wrinkled cloth. _Tap-tap-tap._ She felt the weight of her hair swinging in time with her head turn. She folded her hands in her lap, straightening as the air in the room changed. _Tap. Tap. Tap_. The couch across from hers gave a soft rustling. A gentle sigh. "Kalleina."

She dipped her head in greeting, "Mother. May I ask what you need?" A soft breath. Kallie briefly wondered what her mother looked like now. Was she frowning? Was her face wrinkly from stress? Had her hair turned grey yet? "I..I set up an appointment with your eye doctor." Kallie threw her thoughts aside, frowning softly. "Again? Mother, you remember what he said. My eyes cannot be saved. My vision is permanently ruined, you know this." The hushed sound of skin against skin. Her mother had started twisting her hands around each other. "I'm aware. I just... I worry, Kalleina."

Kallie smiled, opening her eyes to direct them onto the pink shape that was her mother. "I know, Mother. I know. But I'll be alright. I can handle myself." Her mother sniffled, her voice suddenly frail. "Please, at least attend the appointment."

"...I will, mom. For you, I'll go."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kallie is blind :0 Also, if anyone has any tips on how to write this, that'd be a big help. I was about to ask if anyone here was blind but i think you can see why i haven't asked that. lmao, I'm dumb. anyways, if anyone has any helpful tips or something on what it's like to be blind, i'd appreciate it if you could tell me. You don't have to though :)
> 
> Alright, I guess we'll see who's next. I'd planned to write Hades, but Kallie was the one who'd shown up, so here she is UwU. You'll learn more about her as time goes by. Or not. I don't even know if I'll continue this but I hope it turns out good lmao. That's three characters down! I don't know how many i have left to do. Lmao wish me luck!


	4. (Melen) Jennifer Springs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, Melen's dad forgets how old she is.

“Why haven’t you moved out yet?” Melen sighed, her head turning away from her father. He always did this, especially when he was drinking. The ice clinked against the cup’s insides, the amber liquid sloshing. Some of it dribbled over the edge and left dark stains on the ragged brown couch cushion. Her father continued to slur, annoying her to no end. “I don’t know why you’re still in this house, you’re twenty-”

“Seventeen. I’m seventeen, Joseph.” Her father gave a hard frown. Something in his eyes flickered. It was quickly lost in the drunken fog. His voice was gruff as he grumbled. “Don’t call me that.” Melen scoffed, adjusting her headphones. “What, should I be calling you dad? Ha!” The couch creaked as she pushed herself back into the armrest, the stiff pillows cool against her back. Her father didn’t understand sarcasm, sometimes. “Yes, you should.” She rolled her eyes, her fingers twisting in the headphones’ cord. “It was a rhetorical question. And I’m not some little girl.”

“I wish you were. I could’ve dropped you off at the orphana-” Melen sat up quickly, snatching a throw pillow and hurling it at him. It knocked the glass from his hands, and sent whatever remained of his drink spilling down his front. He sat stiffly for a moment, his eyes wide with shock and surprise. The pillow plopped onto the ground silently. At his slow anger, Melen hissed and took the ashtray from the coffee table and held it up threateningly. “I _dare_ you to finish that sentence, old man. I _freaking dare you_.”

Even if he was going to, he didn’t get the chance. The ashtray shattered against his head, a tiny waterfall of cigarette butts and ashes fluttering across his face. Melen glared down at him, her face red with anger. When her father said and did nothing, she turned away with a harsh sound. Anything he said was lost as she yanked her headphones up and cranked the volume up as high as she could. She could distantly hear someone shouting behind her. It was cut off when she slammed her door shut. She dropped onto her beanbag, closing her eyes and letting out a breath.

She wanted pizza. It was for that sole reason that she got up and took her keys. She could picture exactly what type of pizza she wanted. Her mouth watered. She hadn’t eaten all day, considering how busy she’d been, and now that she could get food… The pizza wouldn’t last long.

She didn’t give any to her father, nor her older sister. She bought this with her own money. If they wanted food, they’d have to buy it themselves. She could remember someone saying the exact same thing to her when she was younger, although she didn’t know who. She hummed, chewing slowly to savor the fresh, hot pizza, ignoring her father and sister’s yelling in the next room. She turned her music up louder, drowning out the sounds, bobbing her head along to the beat. She’d save some pizza for tomorrow, she decided. No doubt she’d be just as hungry. She’d have to cover for Conner again, but that was fine. Money was money, and she needed it. A lot of it, if she wanted to keep that car of hers. And gas, and- She shook her head, shoving the thoughts away. Now wasn’t the time to stress over such things. She had pizza to eat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> owo  
> feedback?


End file.
